fanfic | stxi | leave no soul behind 2.3/?
Title: Leave No Soul Behind 2.3, 5,093 words of 89,000+
Fandom: Star Trek XI, TOS references.
Characters: Kirk/Spock, ensemble, OCs.
Rating & Warnings: Strong R - slash, language, adult themes.
Spoilers: For the 2009 movie mostly.
Disclaimer: Fanfiction and fanfiction only, folks.
Betas: the magnificent the_arc5, who even managed to beta this during midterms. Is there anything this girl can't do, for real?
Author's Note: This is written for stripedpetunia on trek_exchange. Has anyone noted the updated total word count? Yeah, this story has taken over my brain.
previous
2.3
McCoy gives Jim one week's leeway to broach things with T'Loren before he's going to have to do it officially. As much as he hates to admit it, the whole thing is going to look a heck of a lot better if it comes from him rather than the doctor. Sulu said the same, but now he's gone, disappeared in a shuttle headed back to Earth.
That had been one awkward conversation. Sulu had tried to get him to commit to messaging or even comming from time to time and had looked utterly crestfallen when brushed off. It wasn't that Jim doesn't like the idea of keeping in touch, it's just the idea that one day, pretty soon, the messages might stop. Now, that's a whole different thing.
He trusts Sulu implicity though, and he's beginning to trust McCoy, but he's got one last thing to check on before he talks to T'Loren.
Pike's face materializes on the comm screen but remains a little fuzzy around the edges. "Jim!" he smiles. "Is this business or pleasure?"
"Sort of neither," he hedges. "I need some advice."
"Professional or personal?" Pike is immediately attentive. He knows as well as Jim does that these long distance comm lines are energy expensive and unreliable at best.
"Both."
Pike makes an exasperated face. "Give me something to work with here, Jim."
"The ship's doctor thinks I need counseling."
"So, what else is new? Who among us doesn't?" Pike shrugs.
"I approached him, though. I think ... I think if I don't do something about it, there's a chance it could affect my performance."
"What could?"
"Vulcan."
"Ah," says Pike, leaning back in his chair so that his face no longer fills the screen. "That shit storm."
Jim waits patiently while the Admiral digests his confession. For once in his life, waiting is the easy option. It's the getting up and explaining himself to his Point Two that he doesn't want to do. He can't help thinking that it'd be a heck of a lot easier if only he could have told McCoy and have that be the end of it, or even if Spock was his direct superior. He has no rapport with T'Loren, hasn't even worked with her outside of mission prep since his initial field training. There's been a long-awaited lull in direct confrontation along the Neutral Zone, leaving the Stalwart and many other EPAS divisions at loose ends.
"What is it?" the Admiral asks. "Flashbacks? Bad dreams?"
"A little from column A, a little from column B," he jokes, trying to ease the tension.
"Tell me," Pike says, "Vulcan wasn't the reason you left Starfleet, was it?"
"No," Jim shakes his head. "Hell, no. The orders might have had something to do with it, but the experience itself? No, that wasn't it."
"Nobody would blame you."
"I didn't transfer out because of that."
"Good," Pike snaps, his eyes suddenly cold. "Because I'd hate to think you'd lied to me, Jim."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"Uh huh."
The two men stare at each other from across space, each deep in thought. Pike steeples his fingers and purses his lips. Jim just watches, feeling strangely detached from the proceedings.
"Why are you telling me this, Jim? What is it you want?"
Kirk wants to say it's because he thought Pike might care, but that's a little too revealing. It hearkens back to the rare sound of his mother laughing at one of Christopher's jokes, or the warm feel of a strong hand on his shoulder when Pike occupied the spare room at the farm. He'd thought it might matter to Pike, whether or not he was okay. Apparently not. He needs to stop doing this to himself.
"I want to know if they're going to take me off active duty," Jim offers, and it's only a half-truth, because it is one reason why he called.
"Not likely," Pike shrugs. "Not unless the doctor deems you psychologically unfit, and you passed your entrance evals so unless something has changed drastically over the last few weeks, I can't see why you'd flunk them now."
Jim nods, it's what he figured, but it's nice to have it confirmed by someone in a position to know. Plus, Pike might not be a father to him but he's always excelled at keeping his mouth shut when Jim is in trouble and needs advice.
"All right then, thanks for that," he offers, leaning over to end the transmission. He's got what he needed from this conversation, if not what he wanted.
"Call me if you need to, Jim."
He forces a smile. "Yeah, sure," and thumbs the switch, then stares at the blank screen for a long time.
-:-
In Jim's defense, it's just bad luck that hostilities ignite again the following day. A civilian research outpost orbiting a planetoid well within Federation space is obliterated by Nero's fleet. Only the telltale gravitational anomaly left by the use of Nero's secret weapon indicates where fifty people lost their lives. It causes universal outrage and civil unrest among the member worlds, which was no doubt exactly what Nero is seeking. An administration that is hamstrung by political backlash is slower on its feet, all its reactions delayed, essentially muzzled.
Nero might be a psychopath, but he's a clever tactician and he takes full advantage, driving his point home by decimating a couple of agricultural worlds with conventional weapons, creating a drain on resources in the form of medical, social and economic aid. EPAS are stretched incredibly thin.
In amongst it all, even McCoy has to acknowledge that it's hard to find time to talk to T'Loren about anything that isn't absolutely critical. At least he's started the sessions with Bones, even if he doesn't really know how to do this therapy thing. He's trying to make a go of it, despite the negativity that haunts him. He's sat across from many people who've tried to unpick the knots in his brain, and all he's come away with is a healthy disrespect for psychotherapy. Besides, although the work is hard and the sights are disturbing, Jim's beginning to think he's becoming accustomed to it, that he might not have such a problem. Then again, there has been little to no EVA work, with most of their saves being straight forward planet-side evacuations, and perhaps he's only sleeping well because he's physically exhausted, but he is sleeping, at least most of the time.
He hangs out with Alpha crew at change of shift, taking his dinner alongside their breakfast. Ashe is proving to be particularly good company. Chekov kind of idolizes her, too, which is unbelievably entertaining. Occasionally Nix temporarily loses one of her crew to fatigue or minor injury and they're forced to pull someone from the floating pool to cover, or get someone to do a double shift. The Vulcans' natural hardiness means it's always one of the others who's replaced.
Today Jim's has one day off for a minor burn and Ashe covers for him, pulling a double after her usual stint as Spock's Point One. Jim watches her run through pre-flight, joking with a smiling Chapel and ruffling young Chekov's unruly hair. It's the first time he's felt envious of working a shift under T'Loren, but that's his crew, his place in the world. With a start, he realizes he's not going to be able to rest while Beta is out on deployment.
"Aye, she's a fine shuttle."
A voice next to Jim's shoulder startles him. He looks around to find a short man in engineer's overalls and Lieutenant's tabs staring lovingly at Nix. The man's ginger blond hair is sticking up in all directions and his accent is thick, the comic result of which banishes a little of Jim's unease.
The engineer notices his scrutiny and holds out a hand. "Montgomery Scott," he says with a firm, brief shake.
"Jim Kirk."
"You're a Point, then?"
"How did you know?"
"You've got that look about you," Scott says wisely, "like that ship is your girlfriend and somebody else is buying her a drink. And then there's the small matter of your uniform."
"Oh," Jim cranes his neck to look at his shoulders. "Yeah, right," he nods, feeling like an idiot.
"Amazing powers of deduction," Scott grins, "it's why they keep me around. Well," he muses, drawing out the word. "That and my little side projects."
"Wait a minute," Jim's eyes narrow as various rumors click into place. "I know you. You're the guy with the still."
"Keep it down, will you?" Scott shushes him, eyes darting around the hangar bay. "Trying to get me cited?"
"Montgomery, it's common knowledge," Jim apologizes.
"For God's sake call me Scotty," the engineer blusters, studying Jim rather doubtfully through pale blue eyes. "People know about it, you say? Which people?"
"Doctor McCoy, for one."
"Bah," Scotty dismisses him with a wave of one grease-stained hand. "He won't tell, it would jeopardize his supply."
"According to him, Commander Spock knows as well."
Scotty turns as white as a sheet, all his freckles standing out comically as he clutches for Jim's sleeve with an iron grip made of panic. "Tell me it isn't so!"
Jim bursts out laughing, drawing the attention of T'Loren and Ashe, who are still standing outside Nix's doors, discussing their mission brief. Scotty prods him in the chest, color flooding back into his face.
"Here, you can't tease a man about things like that."
"I'm not," Jim chuckles. "Bones will swear that Spock knows."
"No."
"Really!"
"Sure," Scotty drawls sarcastically, but his eyes are haunted as he manages to make himself let go of Jim's uniform.
They both turn to watch as Nix powers up and begins the taxi to the shuttle bay doors. Ashe leans into her Point harness and gives Jim a big thumbs up. He returns with a cheeky salute which makes her grin.
"Hey," Scotty says, talking to Jim but unable to tear his eyes from Nix's sleek lines and crisp running lights. "Got anything planned for your downtime?"
Feeling like a weight has lifted from his shoulders, Jim shakes his head. "What did you have in mind?"
Nix slingshots out, which seems to finally release them both. Scotty turns to look at him with a calculating expression. "How are you with statistics?"
-:-
Jim has been dreading some freakishly geeky engineering drinking game involving complex equations, so he's pleasantly surprised to find that Scotty had been talking about cards. Any rare personal item buys you into the game, so Jim pledges one of his last fresh apples. So the pot is an eclectic mix of foodstuffs and mild contraband; enough to make it interesting but nothing that would earn anyone more than a slap on the wrist if discovered.
Jim is paired with Scotty, who'd offered him a vile Andorian herbal cigar at the beginning of play. It tasted foul and Jim isn't a smoker, but it makes him feel the part so much that he puts up with it.
"What's high?"
"Nothing," Scotty reminds him, looking worried. "You're thinking of a different game."
"Oh," Jim blinks owlishly. "What game is this?"
"Sweet Jesus," Scotty moans.
"No, no," Jim grins around the table. "I think I remember. I'll see your bet and raise you."
Scotty knocks back a shot of his own hooch, eyes watering prolifically. "Sure you want to do that?"
"Pretty sure," Jim says, sounding anything but.
Everyone else sees his raise, so he lays his cards out on the makeshift table and plasters on his best innocent face. "That's good right?"
There are muttered curses from the other players as they fold in unison and Jim reaches out to collect his considerable winnings. Beside him, Scotty bends to pick up the cigar which had fallen from his lips when his jaw dropped.
"Good lad," he whispers, eyes wide. "Best bluff I've seen in ages."
"Bluff?" Jim asks, shuffling the deck like a pro. "What bluff? I've never played this before in my life."
Scotty grins happily and pushes another drink his way.
-:-
Confidential transcript: therapeutic psychological intervention sessions: Kirk, James Tiberius, Lieutentant, EPAS.
Therapist: McCoy, Leonard, MD, Senior Clinician, USS Stalwart.
Transcript abridged, please refer to central cortex for further information.
2261.1.14
"Jim, I want to talk about your relationship with your commanding officer."
"Spock?"
"No, T'Loren."
"Ah."
"What made you think I was talking about Spock?"
"Technically he's my commanding officer, T'Loren is just my shift supervisor."
"And technically Captain Taylor is my boss, but I report to the Surgeon General on Luna. She's your Point Two, Jim. Usually that's the first person you'd think of."
"Okay, so what do you infer from that? Going to show me some inkblots and talk about my shitty childhood?"
"Jesus, Jim. Try to work with me here."
2261.1.30
"I heard this last mission was a bit of a debacle."
"Bones, that doesn't even begin to cover it."
"What the hell kind of nickname is that? 'Bones'? Where did that spring from?"
"You just remind me of a dog I used to know."
"Excuse me?"
"A dog I used to know."
"I heard you the first time."
"There was this nasty looking beagle that used to mooch around the drugstore in Riverside. Nobody knew who he belonged to. Bit me once, but kind of looked sorry afterwards, you know?"
"Oh, that's just great."
"Whatever you say."
"You sound tired."
"I am tired. I've got a right to be. Have you seen the EVA hours we've clocked?"
"Nix Beta more than most."
"T'Loren pushes us hard, but she knows we can take it."
"Does she?"
"Yeah."
"You sure about that?"
"Look, all I want from life right now is a hot shower and a flat surface. Mind if we skip to the end?"
"Okay, fine. The universe lost another planet to Nero today, how does that make you feel?"
"How is it supposed to make me feel?"
"Jim, there are no right or wrong answers."
"Yeah, just those that will get me fired and those that will get me committed."
"You need to stop think of these sessions like a psych eval, they're not."
"Oh, so you can promise me that the things I say here will have absolutely no bearing on my active status or future advancement?"
.
.
.
"Thought not."
-:-
McCoy carefully unwraps the dressing from his arm, and Jim is struck again by the observation that every part of the doctor seems to be slightly weathered except for his hands, which are paler than the rest of him and baby smooth; surgeon's hands.
"You had that conversation with T'Loren, yet?"
Jim winces. "No."
"Jim!"
"It hasn't exactly been easy to find the right moment," he flails slightly, making McCoy draw back with an irritated expression. Jim apologizes and returns his arm to within the doctor's reach.
"This is going to be a difficult conversation for you, there isn't going to be a moment that feels right," McCoy looks up. "It's going to be hard no matter when you do it, but I really can't keep this secret much longer. You've been good about coming to see me for sessions and your psych profile looks a lot less stressed, which has me reassured, but I'm essentially being insubordinate, despite the doctor's oath of confidentiality. T'Loren's your direct superior and she has the right to know that this is going on."
"I know," Jim sighs defeatedly. "I know. I'll find the time."
"Do it today," he counsels. "Just get it out of the way. Get it off your back." The doctor applies an aerosol spray to the new, pink skin on his forearm and makes a satisfied cluck. "You're done here."
-:-
Jim thumbs the comm outside T'Loren's cabin. The computer has told him she is available for consultation at this time; early morning for both of them, right after breakfast. He wasn't able to eat much, thinking about what he has to say. It's one thing to tease out the edges of his experience at Vulcan with McCoy, whose humour and compassion mitigate the fallout of those memories, and quite another to confess to his unemotional Two that he's got some issues tucked away in his illogical human brain.
The door swishes open, cutting of his train of thought.
"Lieutenant Kirk," she says; an observation devoid of all surprise.
"Have you got a moment?"
She tilts her head, translating and inferring, then steps aside. "Of course."
Jim enters her quarters for the first time and is taken aback by the austerity. He's expected some personal touches, at least. Apart from the muted sandy colour palate which anyone can customise, there's not a single sign here of T'Loren's individuality. For some reason, it's distinctly unsettling.
"You wished to speak to me?" she prompts, making him jump.
"Uh, yeah," Jim casts his eyes around the room for something comforting and comes up blank. "Mind if we sit down?"
T'Loren inlines her head and Jim joins her on the other side of the desk. He clasps his hands in his lap and decides the best way to do this is simply to state facts. It's the logical thing to do.
"I was at the Battle of Vulcan," he tells her, kind of proud of his lack of inflection.
"Having read your file, I am aware of that fact," she acknowledges blankly.
"The thing is ..." and he falters. McCoy's words surface in his mind. This is never going to be easy; just get on with it. "I'm seeing one of the ship's doctors for post traumatic counseling."
Her face is unreadable, with not even the slightest flicker of emotion visible. "Then you have done the correct thing by following protocol and informing me."
"Obviously, if there's any sign that this issue might impact on my ability to work, you'll be informed by the medical staff."
Jim sits awkwardly watching her watching him. It's probably only a handful of seconds that tick past in silence, but it feels like an eternity.
"Was there something else you wish to discuss?" she asks, blinking once.
"No," he says. "That's it."
She stands and inclines her head in polite dismissal. "Since you are returned to active duty, I shall expect to see you at the mission briefing, oh eight hundred hours."
"Sir."
Jim can't get out of there fast enough.
-:-
2261.2.07
"Jim we need to talk about Vulcan."
"That can wait, have you heard anything from theatre? Is Uhura going to be okay?"
"She's out of surgery and doing just fine, Jim."
"Thank fuck for that."
"This is a dangerous job. It's a dangerous universe. I've seen you when other people get hurt and you're not like this. Is it because Uhura's a woman? Is there something between you two?"
"No ... fuck ... no, you moron. It's because she's a Pilot."
"I don't get it."
"She didn't sign up to get shot to shit by trigger-happy Klingons. I mean, fuck! We were there to help them and they goddamn open fire on us? What kind of fucked up shit is that?"
"EPAS operates in a war zone, Jim. Uhura knows that. You know that."
"Yeah, but I signed on to stand in the firing line; she didn't. She just wants to fly shuttles and she's damn good at it. Nowhere in her contract does it state that arrogant warmongering aliens have a right to try to blow her out of the sky when she's coming to save them."
"But it's okay if they happen to kill a Point or two."
"Well, no. It's not okay. Of course it's not okay, but you kind of expect it, you know? Becoming a Point, it makes you consider the possibility."
"And how often do you consider the possibility you might not come back?"
"Every fucking time we go to amber alert."
2261.2.19
"Today, we're really going to talk about Vulcan."
"Sure. Fine. Whatever."
"Jim, I mean it."
"Okay, what do you want me to say? That it was horrible? That it was the single most appalling thing I've ever seen? Cos believe me, since I started this job, I've got quite a lot to compare it to and nothing comes close. What exactly do you want to hear, Bones?"
"The truth."
"Fuck knows what the truth is. How can there be any truth? How can there be anything left after what was taken away, and in the name of what? Does anybody really know what that psychopath is talking about? Romulus being destroyed? He's insane. The planet's right there in front of him, he can visit any time he likes, he can send me a fucking postcard. Vulcan's gone because of a madman."
"It makes you angry."
"No shit. It doesn't make you angry?"
"We're not here to talk about me."
"Sorry, I forgot that I'm the crazy person here."
"Jim ... you came to me for help, remember? So let me help you."
.
.
.
"What do you want to know?"
"What happened? What can you remember?"
"... It was hot. Dry like a sauna. The air, it was thin, like being on the top of a mountain."
2261.2.28
"We made real progress last time."
"You just like it when I cry."
"Jim ..."
"It makes you feel all manly and protective."
"Can we talk more about the Katric Arc?"
"Sure. I've got my waterproof mascara on today."
"You do that a lot, don't you? Use humour as a defence?"
"Nobody appreciates my cutting wit these days."
"Why's that?"
"Vulcans. You'll never meet a tougher audience."
"What's that like for you? Working closely with two Vulcans after you couldn't save their planet?"
"Ah, I know this one. You're trying to make me angry about singlehandedly losing the Battle of Vulcan, or you're trying to make me guilty for singlehandedly losing the Battle of Vulcan. Either way, you get to say 'it's not your fault,' which is totally obvious and supposedly makes me feel better."
"Stop being such a smartass and answer the question."
"I fucking love it."
"Jim ..."
"No seriously, I love Vulcans. They're awesome. Single most fantastic species in the universe."
"Jim ..."
"Pity there aren't more of them."
"Now don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Smile like that. I know you're not happy."
"Do you? I'm not sure I can tell."
2261.3.02
"How much longer am I going to have to keep doing this, Bones? I've told you everything I remember."
"Fair enough. How about we talk about something else?"
"Okay. I heard Ops are edging out Engineering as favourites in the inter-departmental grav ball championships."
"Let's talk about your mother."
"Oh fuck no."
2261.3.03
"I already told you yesterday, I am not discussing my mother."
"Why not?"
"It's fucking obvious why not! What kind of degree have you got, anyway? Did you qualify in psychology or did you just like the sound of some extra letters after your name?"
"You're nasty when you're backed into a corner, you know that?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure."
"Fuck, fine. What do you want to know?"
"Do you still talk to her?"
"Winona?"
"Your mother, yes."
"Most years I remember her birthday."
"And?"
"She sent me a comm last year before she went deep space again, but it got rerouted so many times that I only got it a week ago."
"How does that make you feel?"
"How is it supposed to make me feel?"
"I don't know, Jim."
"No, that's right, you don't, because you probably have a mother you can actually carry a conversation with."
"You don't feel like you know your mother?"
"Well enough. Better than I'd like to. Less than is healthy."
"That's pretty contradictory."
"Welcome to my psyche, Doctor McCoy."
"Did you talk to her about Vulcan?"
"What is it with the Vulcan again? Aren't we done with that?"
"That's kind of up to you."
"Oh, I'm so done with that."
"Your sleeping patterns disagree."
"Beta shift has never suited me."
"Might have something to do with those nightmares, don't you think?"
"Bones, I dream but I don't have nightmares."
-:-
One 'night,' Jim stumbles back to his quarters bruised and battered from several rough landings. Chekov had maintained a constant sub-audible stream of Russian invective all the way back to the shuttle bay and not even T'Loren had reprimanded him. It was only thanks to the young man's innate ability to fly the most unwilling of objects that they were still in once piece. Jim owes him a drink. Or ten. He knows from bitter experience that the kid can hold it.
"Lights to twenty five percent," he snaps, bending over to tug on the fastenings of his boots. The new vantage point reveals a sight that sends a flash of adrenaline through his frazzled system. There's someone in his room. In his bed. "What the fuck?"
"Nice line, Kirk."
"Ashe?" his voice breaks high with surprise.
"You've been worked up about something lately, I can tell." She sits up, holding the sheet to her naked chest, preserving the illusion of modesty where there isn't any. "And me ... well, let's just say that keeping the Commander alive has been harder than usual these last few missions."
"Oh yeah?" Jim's tone is conversational and he finishes with his boots, throwing them into the closet without looking. It's true, Spock has been stalking about the place wearing a particularly intent kind of blank expression. The mission briefings he runs are even more succinct, his words carefully chosen to convey no emotion as he informs them of the latest Starfleet defeat, or their plummeting save-to-loss ratios. If Jim didn't know better, he'd swear the Vulcan is taking it personally. Everyone's been run ragged lately, but Spock has taken to leaping out of Nix like it hurts him to be aboard, leaving Ashe to give a handover, a haunted look in her eyes. Jim knows she's loyal, knows she'd never say anything, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out she's worried.
Ashe shifts slightly, dark hair slipping out from behind one ear. "I just thought we could both benefit from blowing off a little steam."
"Is that what they're calling it these days?" he asks, tone playful, as he pulls his shirt over his head.
"You've got a smart mouth."
"Rest of me's pretty clever, too," he promises.
She laughs, and he's close enough now to see the expression on her face in the low light. She's too pretty, too clever and way, way too damaged to be good for him. The thought gives him pause and she senses it, reaching out to grab him by the belt and haul him closer, her fingers grazing the bare skin of his stomach.
"Listen up, Kirk. We're two peas in a pod, you and I. I don't want to be your lover. Hell, I don't even want to be your friend. This is just sex without the bullshit, you read me?"
Relaxing, he nods and allows her to pull him down across her body, because that sounds like exactly what he needs.
-:-
2261.4.10
"It's been a while, Jim. Anyone would think you've been avoiding me."
"Avoiding you? I saw you yesterday."
"Patching up a scalp wound doesn't count."
"Seems like it ought to."
"T'Loren approached me about your mental wellbeing."
"What about it?"
"She's concerned about it."
"She said that?"
"Well, no. Not in as many words."
"She said I'm emotionally compromised, didn't she?"
"Jim ..."
"Motherfucker."
"Now, listen ..."
"There were kids down there, Bones. Little spindly kids melted to their play equipment like crispy chicken wings. Fuck, Spock is right, I think I'm going vegetarian. Can you whip up a meal plan for me?"
"I'm not giving you a vegetarian meal plan."
"Well don't blame me when I come to you with scurvy or some shit because you wouldn't help me. It's oranges I need to eat, right? And beans, heaps of beans or something."
"No vitamin C in beans, Jim."
"I'm fucking serious, Bones. I can't get the smell out of my mouth."
"You're mixing metaphors there."
"Believe me, I'm not."
"So you think T'Loren is overreacting."
"As per fucking usual."
"You don't like her, do you?"
"Honestly, no. But so long as she's a competent CO, I truly couldn't give a shit."
"You've never really got along with anyone who's above you in the chain of command, have you?"
"Hey, you technically outrank me and we get along fine."
"In an operational sense, Jim. Christ Almighty, it's like pulling teeth with you."
"Admiral Pike and I do all right."
"But you've known him since you were a child."
"As much as I've known anyone."
"Jim, somebody had to raise you. If it wasn't your mom and it wasn't Pike, then who have you got down as your next of kin?"
"Don't have one."
"Excuse me?"
"I don't have one, Bones. Shit, you've operated on me enough times, you think you'd know that by now. Who were you going to ask if you had to pull the plug on me? T'Loren?"
"Would you like that?"
"No, but she might."
"Jim ..."
"Joking, Bones, I'm joking."
2261.5.13
"I'm going to wind up these sessions, Jim. I'm just not sure you're getting much out of them anymore."
"Okay, you're the doctor."
"You make that sound like a bad thing."
"Never."
"You'd have to be one of the most frustrating, ungrateful, unappreciative ..."
"What is this? Insult the patient day? What about my delicate mental state?"
"Just promise me you'll come talk to me if things get bad again."
"Yeah, okay."
"Jim, I mean it."
"I know, I know."
"You're doing better now, you've said so yourself. I'm proud of what you've accomplished, even if I'm not quite sure how it happened."
"Jesus, Bones, you're not going to hug me are you?"
"Sonofa ... get out of my sickbay."
"Sure thing. Hey, I'm off to rec room two. It's the grav ball prelims tonight, want to join me?"
"Sorry, I can't. I'm too busy writing a report on how you're irretrievably fucked up but somehow still highly functional and reliable."
"Sounds like a blast."
"You ought to know."
next
Fandom: Star Trek XI, TOS references.
Characters: Kirk/Spock, ensemble, OCs.
Rating & Warnings: Strong R - slash, language, adult themes.
Spoilers: For the 2009 movie mostly.
Disclaimer: Fanfiction and fanfiction only, folks.
Betas: the magnificent the_arc5, who even managed to beta this during midterms. Is there anything this girl can't do, for real?
Author's Note: This is written for stripedpetunia on trek_exchange. Has anyone noted the updated total word count? Yeah, this story has taken over my brain.
previous
2.3
McCoy gives Jim one week's leeway to broach things with T'Loren before he's going to have to do it officially. As much as he hates to admit it, the whole thing is going to look a heck of a lot better if it comes from him rather than the doctor. Sulu said the same, but now he's gone, disappeared in a shuttle headed back to Earth.
That had been one awkward conversation. Sulu had tried to get him to commit to messaging or even comming from time to time and had looked utterly crestfallen when brushed off. It wasn't that Jim doesn't like the idea of keeping in touch, it's just the idea that one day, pretty soon, the messages might stop. Now, that's a whole different thing.
He trusts Sulu implicity though, and he's beginning to trust McCoy, but he's got one last thing to check on before he talks to T'Loren.
Pike's face materializes on the comm screen but remains a little fuzzy around the edges. "Jim!" he smiles. "Is this business or pleasure?"
"Sort of neither," he hedges. "I need some advice."
"Professional or personal?" Pike is immediately attentive. He knows as well as Jim does that these long distance comm lines are energy expensive and unreliable at best.
"Both."
Pike makes an exasperated face. "Give me something to work with here, Jim."
"The ship's doctor thinks I need counseling."
"So, what else is new? Who among us doesn't?" Pike shrugs.
"I approached him, though. I think ... I think if I don't do something about it, there's a chance it could affect my performance."
"What could?"
"Vulcan."
"Ah," says Pike, leaning back in his chair so that his face no longer fills the screen. "That shit storm."
Jim waits patiently while the Admiral digests his confession. For once in his life, waiting is the easy option. It's the getting up and explaining himself to his Point Two that he doesn't want to do. He can't help thinking that it'd be a heck of a lot easier if only he could have told McCoy and have that be the end of it, or even if Spock was his direct superior. He has no rapport with T'Loren, hasn't even worked with her outside of mission prep since his initial field training. There's been a long-awaited lull in direct confrontation along the Neutral Zone, leaving the Stalwart and many other EPAS divisions at loose ends.
"What is it?" the Admiral asks. "Flashbacks? Bad dreams?"
"A little from column A, a little from column B," he jokes, trying to ease the tension.
"Tell me," Pike says, "Vulcan wasn't the reason you left Starfleet, was it?"
"No," Jim shakes his head. "Hell, no. The orders might have had something to do with it, but the experience itself? No, that wasn't it."
"Nobody would blame you."
"I didn't transfer out because of that."
"Good," Pike snaps, his eyes suddenly cold. "Because I'd hate to think you'd lied to me, Jim."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"Uh huh."
The two men stare at each other from across space, each deep in thought. Pike steeples his fingers and purses his lips. Jim just watches, feeling strangely detached from the proceedings.
"Why are you telling me this, Jim? What is it you want?"
Kirk wants to say it's because he thought Pike might care, but that's a little too revealing. It hearkens back to the rare sound of his mother laughing at one of Christopher's jokes, or the warm feel of a strong hand on his shoulder when Pike occupied the spare room at the farm. He'd thought it might matter to Pike, whether or not he was okay. Apparently not. He needs to stop doing this to himself.
"I want to know if they're going to take me off active duty," Jim offers, and it's only a half-truth, because it is one reason why he called.
"Not likely," Pike shrugs. "Not unless the doctor deems you psychologically unfit, and you passed your entrance evals so unless something has changed drastically over the last few weeks, I can't see why you'd flunk them now."
Jim nods, it's what he figured, but it's nice to have it confirmed by someone in a position to know. Plus, Pike might not be a father to him but he's always excelled at keeping his mouth shut when Jim is in trouble and needs advice.
"All right then, thanks for that," he offers, leaning over to end the transmission. He's got what he needed from this conversation, if not what he wanted.
"Call me if you need to, Jim."
He forces a smile. "Yeah, sure," and thumbs the switch, then stares at the blank screen for a long time.
-:-
In Jim's defense, it's just bad luck that hostilities ignite again the following day. A civilian research outpost orbiting a planetoid well within Federation space is obliterated by Nero's fleet. Only the telltale gravitational anomaly left by the use of Nero's secret weapon indicates where fifty people lost their lives. It causes universal outrage and civil unrest among the member worlds, which was no doubt exactly what Nero is seeking. An administration that is hamstrung by political backlash is slower on its feet, all its reactions delayed, essentially muzzled.
Nero might be a psychopath, but he's a clever tactician and he takes full advantage, driving his point home by decimating a couple of agricultural worlds with conventional weapons, creating a drain on resources in the form of medical, social and economic aid. EPAS are stretched incredibly thin.
In amongst it all, even McCoy has to acknowledge that it's hard to find time to talk to T'Loren about anything that isn't absolutely critical. At least he's started the sessions with Bones, even if he doesn't really know how to do this therapy thing. He's trying to make a go of it, despite the negativity that haunts him. He's sat across from many people who've tried to unpick the knots in his brain, and all he's come away with is a healthy disrespect for psychotherapy. Besides, although the work is hard and the sights are disturbing, Jim's beginning to think he's becoming accustomed to it, that he might not have such a problem. Then again, there has been little to no EVA work, with most of their saves being straight forward planet-side evacuations, and perhaps he's only sleeping well because he's physically exhausted, but he is sleeping, at least most of the time.
He hangs out with Alpha crew at change of shift, taking his dinner alongside their breakfast. Ashe is proving to be particularly good company. Chekov kind of idolizes her, too, which is unbelievably entertaining. Occasionally Nix temporarily loses one of her crew to fatigue or minor injury and they're forced to pull someone from the floating pool to cover, or get someone to do a double shift. The Vulcans' natural hardiness means it's always one of the others who's replaced.
Today Jim's has one day off for a minor burn and Ashe covers for him, pulling a double after her usual stint as Spock's Point One. Jim watches her run through pre-flight, joking with a smiling Chapel and ruffling young Chekov's unruly hair. It's the first time he's felt envious of working a shift under T'Loren, but that's his crew, his place in the world. With a start, he realizes he's not going to be able to rest while Beta is out on deployment.
"Aye, she's a fine shuttle."
A voice next to Jim's shoulder startles him. He looks around to find a short man in engineer's overalls and Lieutenant's tabs staring lovingly at Nix. The man's ginger blond hair is sticking up in all directions and his accent is thick, the comic result of which banishes a little of Jim's unease.
The engineer notices his scrutiny and holds out a hand. "Montgomery Scott," he says with a firm, brief shake.
"Jim Kirk."
"You're a Point, then?"
"How did you know?"
"You've got that look about you," Scott says wisely, "like that ship is your girlfriend and somebody else is buying her a drink. And then there's the small matter of your uniform."
"Oh," Jim cranes his neck to look at his shoulders. "Yeah, right," he nods, feeling like an idiot.
"Amazing powers of deduction," Scott grins, "it's why they keep me around. Well," he muses, drawing out the word. "That and my little side projects."
"Wait a minute," Jim's eyes narrow as various rumors click into place. "I know you. You're the guy with the still."
"Keep it down, will you?" Scott shushes him, eyes darting around the hangar bay. "Trying to get me cited?"
"Montgomery, it's common knowledge," Jim apologizes.
"For God's sake call me Scotty," the engineer blusters, studying Jim rather doubtfully through pale blue eyes. "People know about it, you say? Which people?"
"Doctor McCoy, for one."
"Bah," Scotty dismisses him with a wave of one grease-stained hand. "He won't tell, it would jeopardize his supply."
"According to him, Commander Spock knows as well."
Scotty turns as white as a sheet, all his freckles standing out comically as he clutches for Jim's sleeve with an iron grip made of panic. "Tell me it isn't so!"
Jim bursts out laughing, drawing the attention of T'Loren and Ashe, who are still standing outside Nix's doors, discussing their mission brief. Scotty prods him in the chest, color flooding back into his face.
"Here, you can't tease a man about things like that."
"I'm not," Jim chuckles. "Bones will swear that Spock knows."
"No."
"Really!"
"Sure," Scotty drawls sarcastically, but his eyes are haunted as he manages to make himself let go of Jim's uniform.
They both turn to watch as Nix powers up and begins the taxi to the shuttle bay doors. Ashe leans into her Point harness and gives Jim a big thumbs up. He returns with a cheeky salute which makes her grin.
"Hey," Scotty says, talking to Jim but unable to tear his eyes from Nix's sleek lines and crisp running lights. "Got anything planned for your downtime?"
Feeling like a weight has lifted from his shoulders, Jim shakes his head. "What did you have in mind?"
Nix slingshots out, which seems to finally release them both. Scotty turns to look at him with a calculating expression. "How are you with statistics?"
-:-
Jim has been dreading some freakishly geeky engineering drinking game involving complex equations, so he's pleasantly surprised to find that Scotty had been talking about cards. Any rare personal item buys you into the game, so Jim pledges one of his last fresh apples. So the pot is an eclectic mix of foodstuffs and mild contraband; enough to make it interesting but nothing that would earn anyone more than a slap on the wrist if discovered.
Jim is paired with Scotty, who'd offered him a vile Andorian herbal cigar at the beginning of play. It tasted foul and Jim isn't a smoker, but it makes him feel the part so much that he puts up with it.
"What's high?"
"Nothing," Scotty reminds him, looking worried. "You're thinking of a different game."
"Oh," Jim blinks owlishly. "What game is this?"
"Sweet Jesus," Scotty moans.
"No, no," Jim grins around the table. "I think I remember. I'll see your bet and raise you."
Scotty knocks back a shot of his own hooch, eyes watering prolifically. "Sure you want to do that?"
"Pretty sure," Jim says, sounding anything but.
Everyone else sees his raise, so he lays his cards out on the makeshift table and plasters on his best innocent face. "That's good right?"
There are muttered curses from the other players as they fold in unison and Jim reaches out to collect his considerable winnings. Beside him, Scotty bends to pick up the cigar which had fallen from his lips when his jaw dropped.
"Good lad," he whispers, eyes wide. "Best bluff I've seen in ages."
"Bluff?" Jim asks, shuffling the deck like a pro. "What bluff? I've never played this before in my life."
Scotty grins happily and pushes another drink his way.
-:-
Confidential transcript: therapeutic psychological intervention sessions: Kirk, James Tiberius, Lieutentant, EPAS.
Therapist: McCoy, Leonard, MD, Senior Clinician, USS Stalwart.
Transcript abridged, please refer to central cortex for further information.
2261.1.14
"Jim, I want to talk about your relationship with your commanding officer."
"Spock?"
"No, T'Loren."
"Ah."
"What made you think I was talking about Spock?"
"Technically he's my commanding officer, T'Loren is just my shift supervisor."
"And technically Captain Taylor is my boss, but I report to the Surgeon General on Luna. She's your Point Two, Jim. Usually that's the first person you'd think of."
"Okay, so what do you infer from that? Going to show me some inkblots and talk about my shitty childhood?"
"Jesus, Jim. Try to work with me here."
2261.1.30
"I heard this last mission was a bit of a debacle."
"Bones, that doesn't even begin to cover it."
"What the hell kind of nickname is that? 'Bones'? Where did that spring from?"
"You just remind me of a dog I used to know."
"Excuse me?"
"A dog I used to know."
"I heard you the first time."
"There was this nasty looking beagle that used to mooch around the drugstore in Riverside. Nobody knew who he belonged to. Bit me once, but kind of looked sorry afterwards, you know?"
"Oh, that's just great."
"Whatever you say."
"You sound tired."
"I am tired. I've got a right to be. Have you seen the EVA hours we've clocked?"
"Nix Beta more than most."
"T'Loren pushes us hard, but she knows we can take it."
"Does she?"
"Yeah."
"You sure about that?"
"Look, all I want from life right now is a hot shower and a flat surface. Mind if we skip to the end?"
"Okay, fine. The universe lost another planet to Nero today, how does that make you feel?"
"How is it supposed to make me feel?"
"Jim, there are no right or wrong answers."
"Yeah, just those that will get me fired and those that will get me committed."
"You need to stop think of these sessions like a psych eval, they're not."
"Oh, so you can promise me that the things I say here will have absolutely no bearing on my active status or future advancement?"
.
.
.
"Thought not."
-:-
McCoy carefully unwraps the dressing from his arm, and Jim is struck again by the observation that every part of the doctor seems to be slightly weathered except for his hands, which are paler than the rest of him and baby smooth; surgeon's hands.
"You had that conversation with T'Loren, yet?"
Jim winces. "No."
"Jim!"
"It hasn't exactly been easy to find the right moment," he flails slightly, making McCoy draw back with an irritated expression. Jim apologizes and returns his arm to within the doctor's reach.
"This is going to be a difficult conversation for you, there isn't going to be a moment that feels right," McCoy looks up. "It's going to be hard no matter when you do it, but I really can't keep this secret much longer. You've been good about coming to see me for sessions and your psych profile looks a lot less stressed, which has me reassured, but I'm essentially being insubordinate, despite the doctor's oath of confidentiality. T'Loren's your direct superior and she has the right to know that this is going on."
"I know," Jim sighs defeatedly. "I know. I'll find the time."
"Do it today," he counsels. "Just get it out of the way. Get it off your back." The doctor applies an aerosol spray to the new, pink skin on his forearm and makes a satisfied cluck. "You're done here."
-:-
Jim thumbs the comm outside T'Loren's cabin. The computer has told him she is available for consultation at this time; early morning for both of them, right after breakfast. He wasn't able to eat much, thinking about what he has to say. It's one thing to tease out the edges of his experience at Vulcan with McCoy, whose humour and compassion mitigate the fallout of those memories, and quite another to confess to his unemotional Two that he's got some issues tucked away in his illogical human brain.
The door swishes open, cutting of his train of thought.
"Lieutenant Kirk," she says; an observation devoid of all surprise.
"Have you got a moment?"
She tilts her head, translating and inferring, then steps aside. "Of course."
Jim enters her quarters for the first time and is taken aback by the austerity. He's expected some personal touches, at least. Apart from the muted sandy colour palate which anyone can customise, there's not a single sign here of T'Loren's individuality. For some reason, it's distinctly unsettling.
"You wished to speak to me?" she prompts, making him jump.
"Uh, yeah," Jim casts his eyes around the room for something comforting and comes up blank. "Mind if we sit down?"
T'Loren inlines her head and Jim joins her on the other side of the desk. He clasps his hands in his lap and decides the best way to do this is simply to state facts. It's the logical thing to do.
"I was at the Battle of Vulcan," he tells her, kind of proud of his lack of inflection.
"Having read your file, I am aware of that fact," she acknowledges blankly.
"The thing is ..." and he falters. McCoy's words surface in his mind. This is never going to be easy; just get on with it. "I'm seeing one of the ship's doctors for post traumatic counseling."
Her face is unreadable, with not even the slightest flicker of emotion visible. "Then you have done the correct thing by following protocol and informing me."
"Obviously, if there's any sign that this issue might impact on my ability to work, you'll be informed by the medical staff."
Jim sits awkwardly watching her watching him. It's probably only a handful of seconds that tick past in silence, but it feels like an eternity.
"Was there something else you wish to discuss?" she asks, blinking once.
"No," he says. "That's it."
She stands and inclines her head in polite dismissal. "Since you are returned to active duty, I shall expect to see you at the mission briefing, oh eight hundred hours."
"Sir."
Jim can't get out of there fast enough.
-:-
2261.2.07
"Jim we need to talk about Vulcan."
"That can wait, have you heard anything from theatre? Is Uhura going to be okay?"
"She's out of surgery and doing just fine, Jim."
"Thank fuck for that."
"This is a dangerous job. It's a dangerous universe. I've seen you when other people get hurt and you're not like this. Is it because Uhura's a woman? Is there something between you two?"
"No ... fuck ... no, you moron. It's because she's a Pilot."
"I don't get it."
"She didn't sign up to get shot to shit by trigger-happy Klingons. I mean, fuck! We were there to help them and they goddamn open fire on us? What kind of fucked up shit is that?"
"EPAS operates in a war zone, Jim. Uhura knows that. You know that."
"Yeah, but I signed on to stand in the firing line; she didn't. She just wants to fly shuttles and she's damn good at it. Nowhere in her contract does it state that arrogant warmongering aliens have a right to try to blow her out of the sky when she's coming to save them."
"But it's okay if they happen to kill a Point or two."
"Well, no. It's not okay. Of course it's not okay, but you kind of expect it, you know? Becoming a Point, it makes you consider the possibility."
"And how often do you consider the possibility you might not come back?"
"Every fucking time we go to amber alert."
2261.2.19
"Today, we're really going to talk about Vulcan."
"Sure. Fine. Whatever."
"Jim, I mean it."
"Okay, what do you want me to say? That it was horrible? That it was the single most appalling thing I've ever seen? Cos believe me, since I started this job, I've got quite a lot to compare it to and nothing comes close. What exactly do you want to hear, Bones?"
"The truth."
"Fuck knows what the truth is. How can there be any truth? How can there be anything left after what was taken away, and in the name of what? Does anybody really know what that psychopath is talking about? Romulus being destroyed? He's insane. The planet's right there in front of him, he can visit any time he likes, he can send me a fucking postcard. Vulcan's gone because of a madman."
"It makes you angry."
"No shit. It doesn't make you angry?"
"We're not here to talk about me."
"Sorry, I forgot that I'm the crazy person here."
"Jim ... you came to me for help, remember? So let me help you."
.
.
.
"What do you want to know?"
"What happened? What can you remember?"
"... It was hot. Dry like a sauna. The air, it was thin, like being on the top of a mountain."
2261.2.28
"We made real progress last time."
"You just like it when I cry."
"Jim ..."
"It makes you feel all manly and protective."
"Can we talk more about the Katric Arc?"
"Sure. I've got my waterproof mascara on today."
"You do that a lot, don't you? Use humour as a defence?"
"Nobody appreciates my cutting wit these days."
"Why's that?"
"Vulcans. You'll never meet a tougher audience."
"What's that like for you? Working closely with two Vulcans after you couldn't save their planet?"
"Ah, I know this one. You're trying to make me angry about singlehandedly losing the Battle of Vulcan, or you're trying to make me guilty for singlehandedly losing the Battle of Vulcan. Either way, you get to say 'it's not your fault,' which is totally obvious and supposedly makes me feel better."
"Stop being such a smartass and answer the question."
"I fucking love it."
"Jim ..."
"No seriously, I love Vulcans. They're awesome. Single most fantastic species in the universe."
"Jim ..."
"Pity there aren't more of them."
"Now don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Smile like that. I know you're not happy."
"Do you? I'm not sure I can tell."
2261.3.02
"How much longer am I going to have to keep doing this, Bones? I've told you everything I remember."
"Fair enough. How about we talk about something else?"
"Okay. I heard Ops are edging out Engineering as favourites in the inter-departmental grav ball championships."
"Let's talk about your mother."
"Oh fuck no."
2261.3.03
"I already told you yesterday, I am not discussing my mother."
"Why not?"
"It's fucking obvious why not! What kind of degree have you got, anyway? Did you qualify in psychology or did you just like the sound of some extra letters after your name?"
"You're nasty when you're backed into a corner, you know that?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure."
"Fuck, fine. What do you want to know?"
"Do you still talk to her?"
"Winona?"
"Your mother, yes."
"Most years I remember her birthday."
"And?"
"She sent me a comm last year before she went deep space again, but it got rerouted so many times that I only got it a week ago."
"How does that make you feel?"
"How is it supposed to make me feel?"
"I don't know, Jim."
"No, that's right, you don't, because you probably have a mother you can actually carry a conversation with."
"You don't feel like you know your mother?"
"Well enough. Better than I'd like to. Less than is healthy."
"That's pretty contradictory."
"Welcome to my psyche, Doctor McCoy."
"Did you talk to her about Vulcan?"
"What is it with the Vulcan again? Aren't we done with that?"
"That's kind of up to you."
"Oh, I'm so done with that."
"Your sleeping patterns disagree."
"Beta shift has never suited me."
"Might have something to do with those nightmares, don't you think?"
"Bones, I dream but I don't have nightmares."
-:-
One 'night,' Jim stumbles back to his quarters bruised and battered from several rough landings. Chekov had maintained a constant sub-audible stream of Russian invective all the way back to the shuttle bay and not even T'Loren had reprimanded him. It was only thanks to the young man's innate ability to fly the most unwilling of objects that they were still in once piece. Jim owes him a drink. Or ten. He knows from bitter experience that the kid can hold it.
"Lights to twenty five percent," he snaps, bending over to tug on the fastenings of his boots. The new vantage point reveals a sight that sends a flash of adrenaline through his frazzled system. There's someone in his room. In his bed. "What the fuck?"
"Nice line, Kirk."
"Ashe?" his voice breaks high with surprise.
"You've been worked up about something lately, I can tell." She sits up, holding the sheet to her naked chest, preserving the illusion of modesty where there isn't any. "And me ... well, let's just say that keeping the Commander alive has been harder than usual these last few missions."
"Oh yeah?" Jim's tone is conversational and he finishes with his boots, throwing them into the closet without looking. It's true, Spock has been stalking about the place wearing a particularly intent kind of blank expression. The mission briefings he runs are even more succinct, his words carefully chosen to convey no emotion as he informs them of the latest Starfleet defeat, or their plummeting save-to-loss ratios. If Jim didn't know better, he'd swear the Vulcan is taking it personally. Everyone's been run ragged lately, but Spock has taken to leaping out of Nix like it hurts him to be aboard, leaving Ashe to give a handover, a haunted look in her eyes. Jim knows she's loyal, knows she'd never say anything, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out she's worried.
Ashe shifts slightly, dark hair slipping out from behind one ear. "I just thought we could both benefit from blowing off a little steam."
"Is that what they're calling it these days?" he asks, tone playful, as he pulls his shirt over his head.
"You've got a smart mouth."
"Rest of me's pretty clever, too," he promises.
She laughs, and he's close enough now to see the expression on her face in the low light. She's too pretty, too clever and way, way too damaged to be good for him. The thought gives him pause and she senses it, reaching out to grab him by the belt and haul him closer, her fingers grazing the bare skin of his stomach.
"Listen up, Kirk. We're two peas in a pod, you and I. I don't want to be your lover. Hell, I don't even want to be your friend. This is just sex without the bullshit, you read me?"
Relaxing, he nods and allows her to pull him down across her body, because that sounds like exactly what he needs.
-:-
2261.4.10
"It's been a while, Jim. Anyone would think you've been avoiding me."
"Avoiding you? I saw you yesterday."
"Patching up a scalp wound doesn't count."
"Seems like it ought to."
"T'Loren approached me about your mental wellbeing."
"What about it?"
"She's concerned about it."
"She said that?"
"Well, no. Not in as many words."
"She said I'm emotionally compromised, didn't she?"
"Jim ..."
"Motherfucker."
"Now, listen ..."
"There were kids down there, Bones. Little spindly kids melted to their play equipment like crispy chicken wings. Fuck, Spock is right, I think I'm going vegetarian. Can you whip up a meal plan for me?"
"I'm not giving you a vegetarian meal plan."
"Well don't blame me when I come to you with scurvy or some shit because you wouldn't help me. It's oranges I need to eat, right? And beans, heaps of beans or something."
"No vitamin C in beans, Jim."
"I'm fucking serious, Bones. I can't get the smell out of my mouth."
"You're mixing metaphors there."
"Believe me, I'm not."
"So you think T'Loren is overreacting."
"As per fucking usual."
"You don't like her, do you?"
"Honestly, no. But so long as she's a competent CO, I truly couldn't give a shit."
"You've never really got along with anyone who's above you in the chain of command, have you?"
"Hey, you technically outrank me and we get along fine."
"In an operational sense, Jim. Christ Almighty, it's like pulling teeth with you."
"Admiral Pike and I do all right."
"But you've known him since you were a child."
"As much as I've known anyone."
"Jim, somebody had to raise you. If it wasn't your mom and it wasn't Pike, then who have you got down as your next of kin?"
"Don't have one."
"Excuse me?"
"I don't have one, Bones. Shit, you've operated on me enough times, you think you'd know that by now. Who were you going to ask if you had to pull the plug on me? T'Loren?"
"Would you like that?"
"No, but she might."
"Jim ..."
"Joking, Bones, I'm joking."
2261.5.13
"I'm going to wind up these sessions, Jim. I'm just not sure you're getting much out of them anymore."
"Okay, you're the doctor."
"You make that sound like a bad thing."
"Never."
"You'd have to be one of the most frustrating, ungrateful, unappreciative ..."
"What is this? Insult the patient day? What about my delicate mental state?"
"Just promise me you'll come talk to me if things get bad again."
"Yeah, okay."
"Jim, I mean it."
"I know, I know."
"You're doing better now, you've said so yourself. I'm proud of what you've accomplished, even if I'm not quite sure how it happened."
"Jesus, Bones, you're not going to hug me are you?"
"Sonofa ... get out of my sickbay."
"Sure thing. Hey, I'm off to rec room two. It's the grav ball prelims tonight, want to join me?"
"Sorry, I can't. I'm too busy writing a report on how you're irretrievably fucked up but somehow still highly functional and reliable."
"Sounds like a blast."
"You ought to know."
next